


Eternity is cold

by Transistance



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-01
Updated: 2015-01-01
Packaged: 2018-03-04 15:45:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3073406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Transistance/pseuds/Transistance
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You have been in the void forever, whoever you are.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Eternity is cold

It is cold. You are so cold.

It is cold because there are no sources of heat, anywhere. This is no great surprise. Even your body, your cold-blooded, dead corpse, holds no more inherent warmth within it than the emptiness that surrounds you.

You are alone.

Who were you, again? You had a name, you're sure. But you never spoke it aloud, and you never wrote it down. Nobody knew your name, and nobody ever will.

Just another dead kid. Just another lost soul, tumbling endlessly through a starless sky. An infinite void.

Eternity.

You don't know who you were. You remember someone else who was you, and someone who wasn't, and colours, and masks. You remember being able to fly, you remember never being able to leave your room. You remember red and green and grey.

Grey sounds about right. You were grey. Grey skin. Green coat, blood. Red... sign? Maybe. Who were you, though. Why does grey ring with uncertainty.

The void holds no answers. It is black and empty; perfect in its silence and stillness. You don't think you like it, although loneliness doesn't feel new. You wonder why.

 _Something_ is new, though. There is an emptiness within you that you know has never occurred before. Perhaps it is because you are dead. Perhaps you've lost your soul, or everything else that isn't your soul.

Who knows.

Eyes. You had eyes once, and that means you can see. You open them to look, instead of merely being aware of the darkness. It doesn't make much difference at all at first, but then... there...

Yellow. Just a trace of it, a smear in your peripheral vision. There it is. Snaking away into the distance as though there is somewhere it can go, as though it is a trail; a road.

If you could move, you would follow it.

Legs – you need legs. You remember legs. Shorter than they should be, green-clothed, ending in grey feet. Definitely grey feet. You look down, and there are your legs, subtly imperfect but fully functional. There is an odd and inexplicable phantom ache in the right, which was certainly not there before. You wonder what happened to it.

Before... What, exactly? Where were you before this? You don't remember. The void is eternal, and you have always been here, forever. Silly to think otherwise.

The golden road gleams invitingly. Bright like your moon. It is an almost unfamiliar colour, although... it was meant to be in your eyes, was it not? And... horns? Not that it matters now. Your eyes are empty pools of bla... Disks of white, like your hair, and... Where are your horns?

As soon as you are aware of their absence they are on your head. Of course. Where else would they be? You reach up to touch them with your cl- your hands, your grey hands, and their yellow nails, and find your horns to be exactly where they should be. Good. Further confirmation that everything is fine.

What were you, a troll? That sounds about right. You never met any other trolls, though. Your friends – you remember friends, what were their names? You loved them a lot – were humans, you think. There were... four of them. And someone else.

Someone bad.

You don't know who he was, but you know you don't want to remember him, so you think about something else.

The yellow path is touching your feet. It feels... Odd. It is not warm, exactly, or cold; it runs straight through you, giving a feeling not dissimilar to... Toothache, maybe. Toothache in your feet.

Speaking of teeth, your upper right canine twinges. You tap it gently to make sure it's still there. It is, overly sharp and straight as always. You wonder what colour it is, then dismiss the notion. Your teeth are white. Your mouth is grey.

Your name is Callie and you are a _troll_!

Callie. That was it. Your name. There was another one, too, but it doesn't matter.

You lift one foot and take a step along the golden beam. It doesn't move. You do.

You don't know how long you walk for. The trail spirals slowly into a centre, round and round, drawing you in. There is nothing in the centre, but the light is brighter. It illuminates your skin, vivid and green and hard. It catches the spirals on your cheeks and passes straight through your depthless, hollow black eyes.

Calliope screams.


End file.
